


A Different Kind of Filling

by gracefuldean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Brief Violence, Creampie, Diners, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Feeding, Fluffy Ending, Food Play, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Castiel, Rimming, Tongue Fucking, Vampire Hunt, canonverse, dean has a bitch fit over a pie, gratuitous descriptions of castiel’s hands, mentions of porn, mild bickering, weird pies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 23:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20299651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefuldean/pseuds/gracefuldean
Summary: After taking care of a vampire nest near Bicknell, Utah, Dean and Castiel stop for a quick bite at one of the town’s diners, known for its (in)famous pickle pie. The unusual dessert is just the beginning of an afternoon Dean won’t ever forget, in which weird fillings and not so new feelings will make him realize that he truly has got it all.





	A Different Kind of Filling

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by the lovely [bend-me-shape-me](https://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com/) & [saltnhalo](https://saltnhalo.tumblr.com/). ily <3

Dean is in heaven.

His fingers curl loosely around the vinyl-wrapped steering wheel, tapping an energetic rhythm into the worn surface as the lingering guitar riffs of _ Black Dog _ blare from Baby’s speakers. The warm, earthy air of a clear-skied May afternoon rushes through the rolled-down windows, whipping steadily around him, and Dean enjoys the feel of it as it runs through the strands of his hair and cools his skin. The low, seductive tone of Robert Plant’s voice follows the breeze, swirling around his ears and settling around him, comfortable and intimate like a well-loved jacket, before the wind inevitably carries it away. It’s nice, peaceful in its own way, and even though it's a pretty familiar scene—the endless stretch of the road, the roaring rumble of the engine, the unwavering focus on his mission—Dean knows with absolute certainty he won’t ever grow tired of it.

It can, however, be a hard life at times. He can’t deny that. At its worst days, the burden of the fighting, the sacrificing and the pain are almost enough to suffocate him, his spirit threatening to crumble under the nearly unbearable weight of his work. But still, in spite of everything, it’s _ his _ life, and Dean is... pretty content with it. 

It can be somewhat lonely, more than he would’ve liked—but before he can dwell on that thought that would’ve inevitably ended with him taking a sad ride down self-pity lane, the rustle of the wind beating against paper disrupts his musings. Dean tears his eyes away from the asphalt, turning his head towards the sound, and his gaze lands on a graceful hand. His eyes trace the slope of calloused knuckles, following the delicate curve of its back and traveling along tan skin and beige fabric, up until they come to rest at a familiar curl of dark hair.

Castiel seems oblivious to the loud music, or Dean’s attention for that matter, as his eyes wander across the roads and county lines printed on the map he holds in his hands. His brow furrows slightly as he scans the document, and a small smile tugs at Dean’s lips at the endearing expression. He reaches a hand out and twists his fingers around the volume knob, turning the music down just enough to be heard.

“Cas, you_ do _ know you have Google Maps on your phone, right?”

“I’m aware,” Castiel answers, eyes fixed on the map before him.

“So I guess you’re also aware of the fact that it’d be a lot quicker and easier than looking at that old thing?”

Castiel straightens out the massive sheet of paper between his hands, and it rustles loudly. “Not to be ‘old-fashioned—’” he says, letting go with one hand to curl his fingers around empty air, and Dean barely manages to suppress an eyeroll. “—as you humans so fondly put it, but I prefer maps over any modern app. I find them a lot more engaging and far more interesting than just typing an address into a screen and letting it do the work for you.” He pauses, considering something for a second. “It takes the fun out of roadtrips,” he adds as an afterthought.

Dean turns and faces the road again. “Or maybe you’re just old,” he mutters to himself, barely audible over the music.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Castiel says abruptly, lowering the map into his lap and finally turning his head towards Dean.

“Nothing, Cas. Don’t worry about it,” Dean says, flashing his most charming smile at Castiel and throwing him a wink. He knows he’s not fooling Castiel, and the angel squints at him, giving him a look that lets Dean know he’d heard every word. 

It only serves to make Dean’s grin grow wider. The ghost of a knowing smile touches Castiel’s lips, but he turns away before Dean can say anything.

“Anyway,” Cas says, trying to hide his amusement, “we should be arriving at Bicknell soon. According to the map, the exit is just a couple more miles down the highway.”

Dean frowns, puzzled. “Why are we stopping there? Isn’t the vamp nest in Boulder?”

“It is, but Boulder is still an hour away and we’ve already been on the road for almost seven hours.”

“So?”

“You need to rest, Dean.”

Castiel’s voice is firm yet tender, but it’s the subtle, worrisome tone underneath it that makes Dean pause. His breath catches on his lungs for a heartbeat, something warm tugging at his chest and spreading within him. He sneaks a glance at Castiel, finding the angel already watching him, and Dean quickly turns his attention back to the road.

“That’s awfully kind of you, but I’ve driven a lot longer than this before. Besides, I’ll rest when I’m dea—”

Castiel cuts him off. “That’s not funny.”

Dean chuckles softly. “Hey, when you die as many times as I have, you gotta develop a sense of humor or else you’ll never cope,” he jokes. “Even if it’s a little dark.”

Plant’s voice fills the silence left behind after Dean’s words, but he doesn’t let him for long.

“Seriously, Cas, I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” Dean says. “Most of the time.”

“I care about you, Dean. You know I do.” Dean looks at him, _ really _ looks, and the blue depths of Castiel’s eyes threaten to swallow him whole. “So please… let me take care of you.”

Dean blinks, stunned into silence at Castiel’s words. He faces forward again—driving straight into a tree would most certainly kill the mood—and mulls over his words, trying to come up with a response. But what the hell are you supposed to say to something like _ that _?

Before, Dean’s first instinct would’ve been to snort and avert his eyes, throwing in a mildly derisive comment as a safety measure. He didn’t do feelings and all that crap, not like this, and never so casually. Unless circumstances demanded it, such as the literal end of the world. But now… things are different, and whether it’s him or this new thing between them (which didn’t really feel any different from whatever it was they had before, now that he thinks about it), Dean is struck with the realization that, this time, there’s no need to turn away. No need to hide behind deflecting jokes or tense silence. And in that moment, he finally understands a truth he’d been too blind—or too dumb—to see: he’s not lonely anymore.

The road sign announcing the exit to Bicknell materializes in the distance. Dean glances back at Cas, giving him a soft smile.

“Okay, Cas.”

* * *

The red-orange blaze of the Western sunset grows dim when Dean brings the Impala to a stop on an empty parking spot at one of the two motels in the town. The _ Paradise Inn _ isn't much to look at, but as long as there’s a bed and hot water, Dean’s not going to be picky.

Castiel enters the lobby to get them a room while Dean occupies himself with unloading their duffle bags and a few other things from the trunk. The room is actually nicer than Dean had expected—or is used to, more accurately. The walls are painted in a soft pastel blue, giving the room a calm, serene atmosphere, and a comfortable-looking king bed rests against the adjacent wall, framed by a single nightstand holding a white mid-century modern lamp and a dated alarm clock. There’s an old TV sitting atop the dresser and a small table with two chairs at the corner of the room. That’s where the two of them head now as they bypass the inviting bed and start unpacking their belongings, pulling out the bits of information and research they had gathered for the hunt and placing them on the worn, slightly scratched surface. Soon, a blanket of police reports, satellite picture prints and newspaper clippings covers the entire table, and they start to formulate an attack plan to bring the vampire nest down, going over every little detail to ensure that the hunt goes as smoothly and mistake free as possible.

Dean’s eyelids begin to droop with exhaustion a few hours into their meticulous planning, his body feeling stiff and tired from both the long drive and the uncomfortable chair. After a couple of long yawns and Castiel having to repeat his inquiry about their dead man’s blood supply, the angel looks at him for a moment before closing Dean’s laptop, standing up and gathering the dozens of documents strewn across the table between them in a neat pile. Dean opens his mouth to protest, but Castiel beats him to it, meeting his gaze. “We’ve gone over the plan three times, Dean. We’re as prepared as we can possibly be.”

“Cas—”

“Get ready for bed. It’s already past midnight,” Cas says, his voice thick like honey.

Castiel turns, putting away their research as Dean stares at him. There’s a witty response on the tip of his tongue, but instead he bites down on his bottom lip gently as he eyes Castiel with growing hunger, a flash of arousal quickening his pulse.

Fuck. He really loves it when his boyfriend gets all bossy and authoritative on him. 

It’s only when he’s in the shower, rinsing the suds off his body as his muscles relax under the steady spray of hot water, that the full weight of that thought finally sinks in, and he halts his movements in mild surprise.

  
He’d just referred to Castiel as his _ boyfriend _.

Which is… kind of scary and exhilarating in the best way. His mind races around the word, circling like the water swirling around his feet. It feels somewhat strange at first, but as he weighs the word in his mind, he realizes it really isn’t strange after all.

And isn’t that what they are, anyway? Ever since... that night, when Dean had decided he needed a drink or ten, and had gotten himself a little drunk, and Castiel—devastatingly handsome, painfully oblivious to Dean’s longing, _ Castiel _ — had walked into the dingy bar Dean had been patronizing for the better part of that evening. He’d looked exactly like everything Dean wanted, _ craved _, with his perpetual tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Those eyes had found him in an instant, stared into Dean for endless moments before Castiel moved, weaving his way through the loud, slightly inebriated patrons until he reached Dean, who sat with only a couple bottles of beer for company at the back corner booth of the dimly lit bar. 

Castiel had surprised Dean when, instead of giving him a disapproving glance or a judgemental comment, the angel had wordlessly slid onto the booth right beside him, taking a long swig of beer until he drained the bottle. He’d looked at Dean after setting it down on the table with a dull clink, raising a challenging eyebrow at him as a faint glint flashed in the depths of his pupils. A slow, amused grin had split Dean’s face, and he’d laughed in delight, as if seeing the angel chugging lukewarm beer was the funniest fucking thing in the entire world, and as the night grew longer, the distance between them became shorter, and a couple of rounds later—whether fueled by liquid courage or years of endless sexual tension—Dean had finally gathered enough courage to close the shrinking inches between them and press their lips together.

It had started innocently enough, just a simple, tender graze of their lips, but it was as if a match had been struck, the flames hissing into existence and setting Dean ablaze from the inside. His doubts and reservations had gone up in flames as his aching hunger and desire bubbled to the surface, consuming him. The next kiss had been the complete opposite; hard, desperate, and lacking any sense of finesse, but it had been exactly what Dean—and Castiel, too—had needed. He’d crushed his lips against Castiel’s in a searing kiss, whimpering softly when the angel parted his lips and licked a hot line along his bottom lip. Dean had opened his mouth in response, letting Castiel in, and fireworks burst in every cell of his body when their tongues finally met, kissing until they had to break apart for air. 

Dean barely remembers what had happened next, the memory a blur, but in one moment he’d been hurriedly throwing a couple of folded bills onto the table while Castiel pulled on their joined hands, and in the next the back exit door was banging closed, sharp cold night air filling Dean’s senses before he found himself occupied with an armful of angel. He’d gripped the sleeves of Castiel’s trenchcoat, his fingertips turning white against the fabric as Cas had pressed him against the wall of the building and roughly claimed his mouth. Castiel had sucked on his tongue, nearly driving him insane, pressing their bodies together even more at Dean’s answering moan, and Dean had reveled on the feel of Cas’ hard length sliding alongside his. He’d gripped a handful of that dark, unruly hair, so soft it slid like silk between his fingers, and pulled until only their noses touched, their harsh breaths misting in the air between them. 

Dean had looked into Castiel’s eyes as he let go of his hair, running his fingers down the length of his arm before he laced them with Cas’, pulling the angel behind them as they jogged to the Impala. He’d dropped the car keys twice, hands trembling with the frenzied excitement that coursed through his veins, falling together into the back seat when Dean finally managed to open the door. He still remembers with vivid clarity the way Castiel had pushed him down on the leather-covered bench, taking Dean into his mouth and blowing him until Dean forgot his own name—until the only sound that poured from Dean’s lips was a mantra of Castiel’s name, whispered like a fervent prayer into the air around them.

A low groan escapes Dean’s throat at the memory, the sound bouncing off the dripping tiles of the shower, and he remembers the needy whimpers and filthy moans he’d made that night—and the next night, and the next one, and all the ones after that—his eyes sliding closed as they echo on the back of his mind. He wraps a hand around himself, squeezing his cock tightly in the downstroke, and throws his head back as a wave of pleasure washes over him.

Dean bites his bottom lip as he gives his shaft a few more tugs in an attempt to muffle the sounds flowing out of his mouth. He knows it’s futile, what with Cas’ freakish angelic superpowers and all that, but Dean still has his dignity, and he’s not about to openly moan and pant like a bad porno when the angel is not even ten feet away from the paper-thin wall of the room. After half a dozen satisfying strokes, it’s precisely that thought that makes Dean reconsider and ultimately abandon his efforts at self-pleasure: why settle for his hand when he has a drop-dead gorgeous angel as a _ boyfriend _ waiting for him literally in the next room?

The knob handle squeaks when Dean shuts the water off, and he steps out of the stall, toweling his body while clouds of steam billow around him. Once he’s done, he decides to forgo clothes, opening the door and shutting the light off before he steps out of the bathroom. The room is partially dark, the only source of light coming from the faint glow of the old tv, bathing everything in soft, pale hues. Castiel lies on the bed, his head slightly propped up by pillows and already dressed down for the night as he watches a grainy rerun of _ Dallas _ playing on the screen. Dean crosses the distance between them in a couple of strides, and Castiel gazes at him with bright blue eyes when he climbs onto the bed, boldly straddling Castiel’s hips and settling on his clothed lap. 

Dean leans down, hands planted on either side of the angel’s head, and gives Castiel a quick, chaste peck on the lips. Cas wraps his hands around his waist, fingers gently caressing the warm skin.

“Hey,” Dean whispers against his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Hey.” The ghost of a smile slips into the warm tone of his voice. “Had a good shower?” he asks knowingly.

“Hm, it was okay.” Dean shrugs a shoulder, playing along. “Water pressure could’ve been better, I guess.”

“Shame. From what I heard, it sounded like you were enjoying yourself quite a bit.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean admits, hiding his grin by kissing the side of Castiel’s neck. “Would’ve enjoyed it a lot more if you’d joined me,” he says against his jaw, brushing his lips over his stubble-covered skin as he rolls his hips forward once, rubbing his erection on the bulge of Castiel’s groin to drive his point home.

Castiel inhales sharply and tightens his hands around Dean, his pupils expanding with arousal, swallowing some of the incandescent blue he adores.

“I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” Castiel says with a slight teasing note in his voice.

Dean pauses. He pulls away from Castiel’s neck, facing him completely and looking deeply into his eyes. He considers Cas’ words, pondering over the meaning behind them. Even though things are better than ever between them, and he knows Castiel only said it in jest, Dean sees a tiny speck of lingering doubt and insecurity beneath the clearness of his eyes.

Dean thinks about his life before this moment, before Castiel, and his mind conjures all those endless years on the road, forever a stranger in strange lands, surrounded by seas of unknown faces, and he remembers the despairing loneliness that had taken root deep within him. It’s long gone now, even if he hadn’t fully realized it until only a few hours ago, but despite its absence, Dean can still feel the faint, hollow ache it had left behind—and worse still, he can see the same ache reflecting in Castiel’s eyes.

Dean lifts a hand, cupping the side of the angel’s face and stroking the skin tenderly with his thumb.

“Never,” Dean promises, closing the distance between them and sealing his lips to Castiel’s.

* * *

The hunt goes smoothly, with no setbacks or issues or unpleasant surprises, —which is a surprise in of itself—and Dean thinks it’s uneventful. _ Boring, _ even. Well, under the circumstances.

Castiel had woken him at dawn, the first rays of the rising sun breaking over the brightening grey horizon, giving way to soft pinks and light blues that bathed everything under the sky as they drove to Boulder. The nest hadn’t been too big, roughly a dozen vampires, and since they’d had the element of surprise, they stealthily took out five or so vamps before the rest became aware of their presence. The blood-suckers had rushed them in a deadly wave, sharp fangs and lethal claws ready to shred them to pieces, but Dean and Castiel had stood back to back and swung their weapons at every creature that came their way. 

The wet, ringing sound of metal slicing through flesh, along with the vamp’s shrieks and their own labored grunts, had soon filled the old barn, reverberating against the stained, crumbling wooden planks. A young, blonde-haired vampire had snarled to Dean’s right, getting ready to lunge at Castiel from his blindside while the angel fought off an attack from another vamp, but Dean’s machete had caught him in the neck as he charged at the angel, severing his head in a single, neat slice. It tumbled to the blood-soaked ground with a dull thump, crimson pooling around their shoes, a deep silence falling upon them, and before Dean knew it, it had been over.

It had taken them no more than fifteen minutes to clear the nest, but the cleanup had been another matter entirely. Despite the bloodshed, the exertion from the fight and the grave digging had made Dean work up quite the appetite, and when the last shovelful of dirt had been finally laid down hours later, he’d been downright starving. He’d changed his bloodied, dirty clothes—Castiel was, as always, immaculate, even though he’d been an equal participant of the operation—and put the now abandoned barn on his rearview mirror. The weathered structure had disappeared in a cloud of dust as the Impala peeled out into the dirt road.

So really, it had been quite uneventful. Almost like a milk run to the grocery store. _ Almost _.

A colorful sign advertising some of Dean’s favorite foods catches his attention when they’re driving through the somewhat empty streets of Bicknell. He turns right at the next traffic light, steering Baby into the parking lot of the _ Sunrise Diner _ and parking her in one of the few vacant spots left.

The place looks just like any other diner found in the middle of a shrinking, forgotten rural town; ordinary and antiquated. It’s got huge windows that span almost the entirety of the locale, illuminated by the amber glow of the afternoon sun, giving the place a warm, homey vibe. The furnishing is a bit dated, as is most of its clientele, and even though the linoleum floor is stained with age and a few weird spots, the place looks pretty decent and clean. 

The smell of juicy burgers, greasy foods and roasted coffee reaches Dean’s nose when they’re shown to their table, his stomach growling embarrassingly loud as their waitress hands them slightly sticky plastic menus after introducing herself. Dean scans their surroundings, his gaze landing on the wooden red sign at the back of the diner: _ Enjoy life, eat pie _. Dean smiles to himself in agreement.

He orders a double bacon cheeseburger with a side of hand-cut fries and Castiel simply gets his usual cup of coffee, leaving the complimentary cream and sugar untouched when the waitress brings their drinks. Dean practically devours his meal, eating his burger in less than five bites while Castiel takes occasional sips of his coffee and looks around, tapping his fingers occasionally to the music coming from the in-ceiling speakers. Dean watches him as he drinks. He used to think the angel only ordered coffee for the sake of appearances, but it seems that at some point Castiel had taken a liking to the bitter beverage. He wonders how—or when— it had happened, but refrains from commenting on it, letting Cas enjoy his drink.

The waitress returns after a while, refilling Castiel’s coffee and taking Dean’s empty plate. “Did we save any room for dessert?” she asks with a friendly smile.

Dean looks over at the display fridge in the corner, eyeing the wide assortment of pies through the glass. "What do you have?"

"Well, we have our traditional apple cinnamon, black cherry, banana cream—" The waitress goes on listing at least a dozen more kinds of pie, and Dean’s brain spins with all the choices. “—pecan and strawberry rhubarb. Also, we are the proud home of the famous pickle pie, and folks, I know it sounds strange, but believe me when I say,” she pauses, making sure she has their full undivided attention before continuing, “it is to _ pie _ for!” she says, grinning widely and throwing a fun wink at Dean.

Dean blinks up at the waitress, stunned into temporary silence by both the terrible pun and the contents of the pie itself.

“Pickle… pie,” he repeats.

“Yes, sir.”

“As in… a pie… made of pickles,” Dean says, enunciating each word slowly, because _ that can’t be right _.

The waitress chuckles. “I know it sounds strange, fellas, but don’t knock it till you try it.”

Dean lets out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head and ready to politely decline the waitress’ offer, but Castiel speaks out first.

“We’ll have a slice,” the angel says calmly.

Dean whips his head around so fast his vision blurs, giving Castiel a pointed stare, but the angel simply picks up his mug, eyes fixed on the steaming liquid.

“Great! I’ll be right back with your dessert.”

Dean doesn’t avert his gaze from him while Castiel takes a sip of coffee, looking up at Dean after he sets the mug down on the table.

“Really, Cas?”

“What?” Castiel asks.

“Don’t give me that _ what _ crap.”

“It’s just a pie, Dean.”

Dean fixes him with a look. “‘Just a pie?’ Cas, you know me. A pie isn’t simply_ just a pie _!”

Castiel seems to consider Dean’s words for a few seconds, tilting his head in a sideways nod in agreement as he meets his gaze once more. “I thought we could try something new.”

“You see, Cas, when people say they wanna try something new, they usually go out and eat Thai food or get their hair dyed and a treble clef tattoo on their ankle, or hell—” Dean leans a bit closer, lowering his voice— “they try something other than missionary or treat themselves with some bizarre Bad Dragon toy. What they _ don’t _ do is take something that doesn’t need fixin’, something that is as good as it’ll ever be, and ruin it just because they wanted to try something new.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth twitches in mild amusement at Dean’s rather impassioned speech. “Since when am I most people? Or even _ people _, for that matter,” the angel asks, his brow creasing quizzically.

Okay, he does have a point. “I’m just saying, Cas, it’s not right,” Dean says, shaking his head.

“Only one way to find out,” Castiel says just before the waitress places the dessert right between them, setting two spoons on the edge of the plate before walking away.

Dean examines the pie, eyeing it warily. It’s a dull, unappetizing green, garnished by a small dollop of whipped cream and a twisted pickle slice, which he promptly removes and puts aside. It doesn’t look good at all, but even though he thinks the pie is nothing short of an abomination, Dean has to admit it’s piquing his curiosity a bit.

Dean grabs a spoon, scooping a small portion of the pie onto it and hesitating for half a second before he closes his lips around the bite.

The pie is… actually _ not _ that bad. He’d expected it to be savory and bitter, but Dean is pleasantly surprised when its sweet flavor overwhelms his taste buds. It has a mild, sourish undertaste that Dean finds he doesn’t actually mind, with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg that remind him of pumpkin pies and late-year holiday seasons.

All in all, it’s pretty amazing, and Dean is spooning a bigger slice before he knows it, this time getting some of the whipped cream as well. He closes his eyes in delight when the rich flavors burst on his tongue and moans under his breath around the mouthful.

“Good?”

Dean opens his eyes and meets Castiel’s, slightly embarrassed that the angel had witnessed that particular bit, but Castiel is regarding him with an amused yet intense look, raising an eyebrow at him. The luminous blue of his irises are dark with interest, acquiring the same lustful glint from the night before. Castiel eyes him, his heated gaze traveling down the length of Dean’s chest slowly, going lower and lower until he snaps them back up again. Dean’s breath hitches in his throat when he sees the black of his pupils dilate slightly; a roiling thundercloud swallowing the bright blue of the sky.

Dean knows _ exactly _ what that look means, and he has a feeling this trip to the middle of nowhere is about to become quite memorable. His throat tightens in breathless anticipation. However, he won’t give Castiel the satisfaction of having been right.

“It’s alright,” he quips, giving him a slight shrug.

“I see,” Castiel replies, his voice dropping a few octaves as he stares at Dean with palpable interest. Dean gulps.

Castiel raises a hand, getting the waitress’ attention before he settles his gaze on Dean once again.

“Finished already?” she asks, coming to a stop when she reaches their table.

“Not quite,” Castiel says. “We’ll take the rest of it to go.”

The waitress returns with the leftovers and the bill shortly after, Castiel grabbing the clear plastic container while Dean digs into his wallet and extracts a couple of bills, leaving a generous tip before they head out. It’s a short drive back to the motel, but somehow it feels longer than their trip from Lebanon the previous day. An impatient excitement coils around his chest, snaking along his ribs and squeezing the breath out of his lungs as his heart beats rapidly against his chest. Each beat seems to grow louder with each passing second as the charged silence between them remains undisturbed. By the time they arrive at the motel and Dean shifts the car into park, his mouth feels outright parched and his jeans feel uncomfortably tight against his cock.

He casts a glance towards Castiel, but the angel is already climbing out of the Impala, the door creaking loudly as he swings it closed. Dean quickly takes the keys out of the ignition, pocketing them after locking up the car, and follows Castiel to their room. Castiel holds the door open while Dean steps into the space, closing it behind him after they’re both in, and Dean is about to turn around and press Castiel against it when the angel’s hand gently settles at the slight dip of his waist.

“Go clean yourself for me,” Castiel commands, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet of the room. His breath tickles the shell of Dean’s ear, sending a small shiver down his spine.

Even though he’d wiped most of the mess from himself and changed his clothes after the hunt, sweat and a few streaks of dirt still cling to some parts of his body, but Dean knows that’s not what Castiel is referring to. It’s not the first time he’s given him that command, and Dean feels his cock twitch against the confines of his clothing at the implication. When Castiel wants him clean, it means he’s planning on being especially…_ thorough _.

Dean turns around, meeting Castiel’s eyes before leaning forward and capturing Castiel’s lips in a fierce kiss. Castiel tightens the hand around Dean’s waist and pulls him closer against his body, showering Dean with open-mouthed kisses until his head spins. Too soon, Castiel pulls away, pecking Dean softly on his spit-slicked lips before Dean heads to the bathroom.

He takes a quick shower, scrubbing and rinsing his skin until the water runs clear. It’s a bit challenging to clean himself _ there _ with a fixed shower head, but he manages it after some initial awkward fumbling. He towels off in record time, and he would’ve chuckled at his own impatience if he wouldn’t have been so damned turned on. He’s still hard despite the shower and the lack of friction.

When Dean walks out of the bathroom, he finds that Castiel had been busy as well. The comforter lies folded at the end of the bed, his trench coat and suit jacket tucked neatly in a pile on one of the chairs. Castiel sits on the edge of the bed, the one facing the bathroom door, and his eyes seem to illuminate the room when he looks up at Dean. He rakes his eyes down Dean’s naked body, his gaze heated and intimate, and Dean shivers slightly at the intensity of it. Castiel notices it—he never misses a thing—and his fathomless blue eyes snap up to Dean’s. 

“Are you cold?”

Dean shakes his head.

“Come,” Castiel instructs, beckoning Dean to sit beside him.

Dean obeys. The sheets feel rough against his sensitized skin.

“So it seems I was right after all.”

“About what?”

Castiel inclines his head in the direction of the nightstand beside him, and Dean’s gaze lands on the half-eaten pie.

Dean huffs a short laugh through his nose. “Like I said,” he says with a slight, provoking smirk, “it was alright.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Castiel turns around, picking up the container and popping up the lid. “Maybe you should try it again. You might change your mind,” he suggests, but Dean knows it’s not really a suggestion. The lustful glint in his eyes betrays his true intentions, and Dean sees it for what it is; he’s asking for permission.

Dean gives it, nodding once.

Castiel swipes a delicate finger at the pie, scooping some of the silky filling on his fingertip and lifting it toward Dean’s mouth in offering. Dean locks eyes with Castiel as he takes the finger into his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and licking the filling from it. The pie tastes even better with the salt and intoxicating taste of Castiel’s skin, and Dean savors it, enjoying the addicting combination. He sucks until the last traces of flavor are gone, loving the feel and the weight of the finger on his tongue.

Castiel pulls his hand back a few seconds later. “Well?”

Dean blinks at Castiel, lust-drunk. “It’s delicious,” he says softly, but it’s not the pie he’s referring to.

The angel smirks. “Good.”

Castiel feeds him more bits of filling and Dean accepts every one of them with relish, licking and sucking his fingers clean. Castiel watches him closely, his gaze fixed on Dean’s plump lips wrapped around two of his fingers, and he lets out a shallow, stuttered breath when Dean grasps his wrist and swirls his tongue enticingly around them, sucking them deep into his mouth. Dean notices the growing erection tenting his slacks, and he would happily trade the pie for his cock in a heartbeat, but he refrains from making the suggestion, waiting eagerly yet patiently to see exactly what the angel has in store for him.

His patience is rewarded when Castiel suddenly removes his fingers from Dean’s mouth, the slick digits coming free with an audible pop, and stands up. He faces Dean as he brings a hand up to the knot of his tie, hooking his finger in the navy blue fabric and dragging it down until the knot comes undone, sliding silently to the floor. Dean’s eyes are fixed on Castiel’s every move, unable to look away from those deft, alluring fingers currently undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. He remains hypnotized as the angel undresses in front of him, each movement revealing the expanse of his unblemished, sun-kissed skin and the sharp angles of his body.

It’s when the last of his clothing joins the rest strewn on the floor that Dean breaks out of his trance, and he stares in awe at the angel before him, taking in his naked, graceful frame. He reaches a hand out, fingertips tracing along the prominent bone of his hip, admiring the way Castiel’s muscles ripple under smooth skin with every breath he takes. His skin is warm to the touch, more than a normal human’s, but it’s neither strange nor uncomfortable to Dean. He thinks about Castiel’s grace, his power, his true self, all being contained in the body before him, and it makes sense that would run a few degrees hotter. 

What _ doesn’t _ make sense is that he had chosen Dean over anyone else. _ Above everything else _ . Yet he had, without a second thought, and Dean had made his choice too. They belong with each other, _ own _ each other; heart, soul, body and mind. Still, in moments like this, it’s nearly incomprehensible to Dean that he can call Castiel, this ethereal, cosmic, timeless being... _ his _.

Castiel joins him on the bed, bringing his fingers up again with more pie. Dean eagerly accepts it, sucking almost desperately on Cas’ fingers, and arousal simmers low on his belly, relentless and overpowering. It both heightens and clouds his senses, and when Castiel removes his fingers from his mouth yet again, makes him blurt out the first thing that pops into his lust-dazed mind.

“Aren’t you gonna try it, Cas?” Dean says, breathless with need.

Castiel meets Dean’s gaze, blue eyes boring into him for infinite seconds. He leans closer, and for a moment Dean thinks Castiel is going to kiss him, parting his lips slightly in anticipation, but the angel stops a few inches away from his mouth.

“Oh, I intend to,” Castiel says, his eyes dipping to Dean’s lips before he finally closes the distance between them.

A breath Dean didn’t know he was holding rushes out if his lungs when Castiel crushes their mouths together, lips meeting again and again as he kisses Cas with with everything he’s got. He deepens the kiss when Castiel swipes his tongue along his lip, circling his arms around the angel’s waist as they press their bodies closer, breathing each other in. Dean closes his eyes as desire overwhelms him, love and lust setting the blood coursing through his veins ablaze. He burns with want, whimpering into the kiss when Castiel brings a hand up to cradle the back of his neck, holding him with the reverent tenderness only an angel is capable of. Their tongues slide against one another, intertwining as they breathe each other in, and Castiel lets out a deep moan as he kisses Dean with unrestrained fervor.

Dean’s hands roam all over Castiel, unable to keep them still, his fingers climbing up Castiel’s muscular back and caressing the smooth, taut skin at his ribs, just below his heart. The kisses grow sloppier, hungrier, and Dean’s wandering hands trail down, going lower until they reach the base of Castiel’s cock. He drags the pads of his fingers over the velvety shaft, wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s cock and giving it a firm squeeze.

Castiel groans lowly, sucking Dean’s lip into his mouth and gently biting down on it as he returns the favor and closes his fist around Dean’s cock. A fresh wave of desire floods Dean’s senses when Castiel starts stroking him in earnest, moaning wantonly into the kiss as the angel jerks him with stimulating, gentle tugs.

He jumps into action a second later, moving his hand to match Castiel’s rhythm and enjoying the velvety feel of Castiel’s length beneath his fingertips. The friction of Castiel’s hot palm threatens to drive Dean to insanity, even more so when he swipes his thumb over the slit of his cock, smearing the clear bead of precome crowning the sensitive tip and spreading the moisture over the head. Dean lets out a filthy groan at the sensation, and is just about to throw himself onto Castiel and ride him until the next week when the angel suddenly draws back, letting go of Dean’s aching erection.

“Get on all fours and turn around,” Castiel says, his voice dropping impossibly lower, and it sends an electrifying bolt of arousal down Dean’s spine.

Dean obeys, climbing fully onto the bed as Castiel scoots backwards and lies down at the center, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He turns around and hitches a leg over Castiel’s thighs, straddling his hips and leaning forward until he’s in all fours, hands planted at either side of Cas’ legs as he exposes himself to the angel’s view.

The angel’s fingers ghost over his legs, the touch leaving a searing trail behind as they move over Dean’s skin, going up until they settle at the top his thighs. Castiel grips them, fingertips pressing into his flesh, and pulls gently. Dean gets the hint, allowing Castiel to position him however he wants, and he slides further back, his head coming to a stop just above Castiel’s cock. Dean feels a flush blooming under the skin of his cheeks at the realization that his ass must be hovering over Cas’ face, and a jolt of lust zaps through him at the mental image, going straight to his weeping cock and drawing a low groan from the back of his throat.

Castiel lets go of his thighs once he’s satisfied and continues to brush his fingers along Dean’s feverish skin, caressing him in soothing, grounding strokes that seem to have the opposite effect on Dean. He’s nearly delirious with need when Castiel’s hands finally move higher and cup his cheeks, his heart beating wildly against his chest as Castiel grabs one in each hand and pulls them apart, spreading him wide.

“Suck,” Castiel orders, breath warm against Dean’s sensitive opening before he gives it a swift, broad lick.

Dean curses under his breath at the sensation, panting shallowly as Castiel slides his wet, sinful tongue over his entrance. Sharp pleasure shoots throughout his whole body like a current, his nerve endings sparking like fireworks. Castiel is relentless, grabbing at the meat of Dean’s ass forcefully and lapping at his hole with eager licks. A broken moan slips from Dean’s parted lips before he remembers Castiel’s instruction, closing them around the smooth head of his cock. Dean sucks on the leaking crown, savoring the heady taste of Castiel’s skin and the salt of his precome on his tongue, moaning around the thickness in his mouth when Castiel closes his lips over his hole and sucks on the tender rim.

Dean takes the cock deeper into his mouth, reveling on the slide and weight of it on his tongue, and pulls back up again when the head hits the back of his throat. He repeats the movement, bobbing his head up and down on Castiel’s cock and gradually increases the pace, enjoying the way his spit glistens along the shaft. Castiel lets out a guttural groan, panting into Dean’s heated skin, and he dives in, licking a wet trail from the back of his balls, tracing his tongue up along his perineum and finishing at Dean’s puckered entrance once more. Dean cries out, the sound muffled by the cock in his mouth, and feels a bead of precome slipping from his slit. The angel strokes his hands over his hips and the globes of his ass, peppering open-mouthed kisses all over Dean’s backside, and it’s so tender and loving that Dean feels himself melting into the caresses. 

He swirls his tongue around Castiel and slides down the length again, lips stretching around the generous girth, and concentrates on relaxing his throat when the tip nudges the back of his mouth. Slowly, he opens himself for Castiel, taking a deep breath through his nose before he swallows him down almost completely, his throat constricting around the hard length. Castiel moans, digging his fingertips into the flesh of Dean’s cheeks when his cockhead breaches the tight muscles of his throat, and licks into Dean with renewed vigor. 

Dean hums around his cock as a spike of pleasure shoots through him, a pleased warmth spreading across his chest at Castiel’s reaction. Feeling proud of himself, he swallows around Cas once, twice, and hears the angel gasp in response just as he instinctively bucks his hips up into Dean’s mouth, his cock sinking deeper down his throat before Dean could adjust to the extra inch. Castiel quickly stops himself short, but it’s too late and too much for Dean; his gag reflex activates and he chokes around the length, drawing back until only the head rests comfortably on the back of his tongue.

Dean resumes his sucking once he gets his breathing under control, hollowing his cheeks as he pleasures Castiel. Precome leaks steadily from his slit, and Dean drinks every drop of moisture that Castiel gives him, enjoying the pure, unadulterated taste of Cas. There is an airy taste underneath the clear, musky scent of his skin, earthy and light like the wind just before a summer storm. It’s intoxicating, and Dean can’t get enough of it. He loses himself to the taste, the smell, the feel of Castiel under him and inside him, so much in fact that it catches him by surprise when his brain finally registers something being spread on his hole. It’s different than the wetness of Castiel’s tongue, and Dean instantly assumes it’s lube, but Castiel’s fingers don’t circle his entrance or breach him. Whatever is smeared on his hole feels thicker than normal lube. It’s smooth and silky; stickier, even. It feels just like…

Dean lifts his head up suddenly when understanding sinks in, Castiel’s cock slipping from his spit-slicked lips with a wet, obscene pop. “Wha—” he starts, struggling to form a coherent sentence through the lustful fog of his brain, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. “What’re you doin’, Cas?” he pants out, slurring his words a bit.

Castiel’s answer clears the haze on his mind, replacing it with a fresh, new bolt of arousal. “Having a taste,” he says, licking the pie filling off Dean with a broad sweep of his tongue.

Dean is so turned on he can hardly think straight, his brain shorting when it wraps around the fact that his boyfriend is _ literally _ eating pie filling off his ass. It’s every little filthy fantasy he wasn’t even aware he’d had rolled into this single moment, and he knows that he will never, in all the years he has left on this Earth, be able to look at pie the same way as he did before. Castiel is giving him the eating out of his _ life _ , and even though it’s all kinds of kinky and weird and messed up, it’s also incredibly, deliciously _ hot _, and Dean can’t find it within himself to feel a speck of guilt or shame at the act with Castiel’s tongue twisting so skillfully around his entrance.

A cascade of moans fall from Dean’s lips as Castiel keeps worshipping Dean with wet, hungry licks, and only when Dean no longer feels the sticky mess between his cheeks does Castiel use his fingers, prodding at his spit-slicked hole and slipping the tip of his index finger inside with ease. Dean sucks in a sharp breath, throwing his head back and grinding his hips against Cas’s finger as pleasure bursts inside his body, causing it to sink deeper into his hole. He bites his lip at the dull, pleasant burn, craving more of the addictive drag.

Castiel pumps his finger in and out of Dean, setting a slow pace while Dean grows accustomed to the intrusion and increasing the speed of his thrusts when Dean gasps a broken “_ more _” against Castiel’s thigh. His breaths come out in punched out moans at every twist and thrust of Castiel’s finger, and when the angel curls his finger downward and begins to rub at his prostate, Dean cries out desperately, arching his body as more electrifying desire possesses him.

“You should know,” Castiel says suddenly, his voice firm and low; grounding, “it took all of my willpower not to bend you over the table and fuck you right then and there back at the diner.” He thrusts his finger deeply at the last word, dragging a low, breathy moan from Dean’s throat. “You sound so pretty when you moan,” Cas breathes into the skin of his cheek, the words sinking directly to Dean’s erection, and his cock jumps at the praise, a spurt of wetness slipping from his neglected head.

“But your moans, all your sweet little sounds, belong to me,” Castiel almost growls, a second finger rubbing at his stretched rim, its touch a promise whispered into his skin, “and I don’t want you—” The finger breaches him, Dean keening at the feeling of fullness— “_ moaning _—” Cas thrusts the finger in in one smooth slide, slipping it alongside his index until his knuckles are resting snugly against his hole, the sudden stretch punching the air out of Dean’s lungs— “around anything that isn’t my fingers, my tongue or my cock. Understand?”

“Yes, Cas!” Dean cries, panting with need. “I—_oh,_ _fuck_—” 

Whatever Dean was about to say vanishes from his mind when Castiel drags his fingers out of Dean’s tight hole and, using his fingertips to spread him wider, slips his tongue in between them.

Dean shouts at the feeling of Castiel inside of him, pleasure flooding his senses in a powerful wave, and he rocks his hips backwards into Castiel’s mouth, relishing in the thrilling feeling of being so obscenely open and thoroughly licked. He chokes back a sob when that tongue delves deeper into him, Castiel curling his tongue enticingly as he licks his walls. Pleasure coils around his groin, twisting in the pit of his stomach as his orgasm builds just underneath the surface.

Dean takes Castiel in his mouth again, wrapping his lips tightly around his cock and sucking him down with quick, noisy slurps, his movements getting increasingly sloppier and uncoordinated. Spit runs freely down his chin and Castiel’s shaft, glistening in the fading afternoon light whenever Dean’s mouth slides up the length. Castiel pants harshly, his breath stimulating Dean’s already sensitive hole even more. He hooks his thumbs on Dean’s rim, opening him further, and plunges his tongue into his tight heat, fucking him with wet, smooth glides. Desperate, high-pitched noises pour from Dean’s lips, the sounds muffled by the thickness stuffing his mouth, and his fingertips dig into the meat of Castiel’s thighs as the familiar pull on his groin grows stronger, the muscles tensing as the finish line grows closer with each toe-curling lick of Castiel’s tongue.

A hand wraps around Dean’s cock, jerking his shaft with quick, tight strokes that drive Dean right to the edge, his imminent climax rising like a wave rushing towards the shore. Castiel squeezes the weeping head tightly, just shy of being painful, but it's _ exactly _ what Dean needs, and when he plunges his tongue deep into Dean, the wave finally crests, the swelling tension coiling around the base of his cock snapping. Dean comes, spilling all over Castiel as his orgasm washes over him, his back arching as the force of it shakes his entire body. It rips through him like lightning, his vision going white, and he’s vaguely aware of his shouts echoing against the walls of the room. 

His climax subsides after a few moments, and Dean drops his head as it leaves him, gasping into the vee of Castiel’s hips as the fading aftershocks run along his quivering muscles. He presses his cheek into the warm, firm skin as he struggles to catch his breath, panting harshly as his heart threatens to beat out of his chest and the afterglow sinks in.

Castiel only allows him a few seconds to get his bearings back before the angel pulls away, gently pushing on the small of Dean’s back when he slides his body from under him. Dean goes willingly, collapsing into the welcoming softness of the mattress, and he groans lowly as a faint spark of arousal stirs within him when Castiel climbs on top of him. 

The angel kneels on the bed, straddling Dean’s thighs, and soon a chorus of slick slides and breathy groans reaches Dean’s ears, a low moan escaping his throat when he recognizes the sounds coming from behind him. Dean bites his lip, wishing he could see Castiel’s strong, beautiful hands wrapped around himself while he chases his own pleasure, wishing he could see the desire darkening his blue eyes and get lost in the mesmerizing curve of his lips when Castiel instinctually parts them whenever he’s close to climaxing, but he stays still, enjoying the way Castiel’s body feels against his.

Castiel’s breathing quickens, letting Dean know that he’s close, and he pants into the sheets when the angel grabs him and pushes an asscheek aside, holding him open while he continues to rapidly fist his cock, but the sound quickly turns into a stream of curses when he feels the first spurt of Castiel’s orgasm splashing across his opening. Castiel exhales sharply, whispering Dean’s name like a prayer as he spills rope after rope of hot come onto him. A wanton moan slips from Dean’s lips when Castiel’s come drips into his loosened hole, filling him in the most intimate and intoxicating way, and his cock twitches against his belly in a vain attempt to come again. 

The sounds of their harsh breathing fade as the seconds tick by, Dean still coming down from his post-orgasm high when Castiel removes his weight off him and pulls on his shoulder, gently turning Dean until they’re face to face. A sated grin spreads across Dean’s face when he gazes up at his boyfriend, Castiel mirroring it with a tender smile of his own as he hovers above Dean. Dean’s eyes slide down, landing on the white streaks of come clinging to the angel’s chest. A thrilling, slightly possessive rush blooms on his chest at the view, and Dean shifts on the bed as a faint throb of arousal runs down the length of his body. The movement makes him aware of the sticky mess on his backside, and Dean chuckles lowly as he imagines what a view they both must make. 

A snort of laughter escapes his throat when Dean finally puts two and two together, Castiel giving him a curious, puzzled look, as if worried that Dean might’ve gone momentarily insane. His expression only serves to make Dean laugh harder, his shoulders shaking lightly with amusement.

Castiel quirks an eyebrow, eyeing Dean. “Care to share what you find so amusing?”

Dean’s laughter subsides until he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice what you just did?”

“Enlighten me.”

“What you did right there at the end? Shootin’ your load into me like that?” Dean raises a knowing eyebrow, throwing a suggestive smirk at the angel. “You watchin’ porn in your spare time, Cas?”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly, but his expression gives nothing away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Creampies, Cas. Sound familiar?”

A lop-sided grin tugs at Castiel’s mouth, his eyes shining with a knowing glint before he settles on a small smile. “Ah, that,” he replies in a casual tone.

“Yes, _ that _.”

“I might’ve,” he shrugs in a nonchalant manner, “seen something of that nature some time ago.”

Dean snorts with amusement, grinning broadly at Cas. “You pervert,” he teases.

“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier."

“I’m not,” Dean says sincerely. “C’mere,” he adds after a moment, voice soft.

Castiel does, pressing his body closer as he falls into Dean’s open embrace. He circles his arms around the angel, burying his face in his soft, dark hair when Castiel settles his head on his shoulder. Castiel nuzzles against his neck, his breath warm and comforting on his skin, gentle and pleasant like a late spring breeze. It reminds Dean of their trip the day before, images flashing behind his eyes as he lets his mind wander; the brightness of Castiel’s eyes, the road stretching out before them, the rays of the sun filtering through the branches of the trees. He remembers the way he felt when he’d looked at Castiel, how right it had felt to have him there by his side, and that same feeling washes over him now, seeping into his limbs, fusing with his bones until everything in him, everything he knows and feels, is _ Cas _. 

Dean smiles against Castiel’s head, holding him just a little bit tighter, and knows,_ really knows _, that he is truly in heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> yes, [the pie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucTNOJyuav4/) is real.
> 
> also, this is like super unsafe and you should NEVER put food down there but i just wanted them to have some fun *winks* 
> 
> tell me what you think! [my tumblr](http://gracefuldean.tumblr.com/)


End file.
